Hands
by ornii
Summary: A collection of fluffy (and sometimes sexy and ridiculous) drabbles; based on Tumblr meme-prompts. Life on the Nemesis is very rarely a dull experience. Knock Out/Breakdown interspersed throughout with 'Con shenanigans.
1. Hands

Anonymous **sent:** Hands.

Knock Out/Breakdown, reminiscent

* * *

Large, clumsy, _primitive_ - any bot in their right processor should have realised such hands were incapable of mastering the delicate manual procedures characteristic of medics and their associates.

But Knock Out had been adamant in his decision. As he watched Breakdown struggle with the forceps and probe, he recalled the jeers of his colleagues - how they'd scoffed at him, called him rash, a _fool_ too blinded by his reputable lust to _realise_ the futility of trying to teach a brute and a former _Autobot_, at that, the art of healing.

With a wince, the cherry medic sat up - he felt the _glare_ from yellow optics flicker in his direction. A wry little smirk was all he gave as he teased their owner.

"You're going to _maim_ me if you keep tangling your probe in there like that."

Dragging himself so that he was pressed between his leg and his assistant, Knock Out laced his ten slender digits with Breakdown's blunt eight and began to demonstrate - _again_. The nervous tremor that ran through his hands was not his own, but just the same Knock Out forced his EM field to relax. To flow, mingle with Breakdown's - anything to infect him with his calm. If only _they_ could see them_ now_.

"I'll lead. All _you_ have to do is _follow_."

_They'd_ said an 'oaf' like Breakdown would sooner break someone than be able fix them. That much was true, to an extent - the only reason Knock Out was still functioning at all was because this 'oaf' had interjected the blow that would have surely killed him, had it landed, and off-lined the perpetrator with ruthless abandon. But here Breakdown was in the aftermath, now, _helping_ to repair the medic and _despite_ the small shocks of pain that shot up the smaller mech's struts every now and then, doing a fairly good job at it.

Knock Out's gaze trailed to the side, up Breakdown's forearm; the armor there was mangled from the strike - the blue mech would need his own share of repairs, too. A small sting of sensation brought the medic's optics back to the job at hand - he'd stopped paying attention, but Breakdown had continued working, _leading_ for the past few kliks without even realising it.

"… You're better at this than you let _on_."

There was a tiny hint of smugness in Knock Out's tone, even as his knee jerked in obvious discomfort - it was a huge improvement to his condition just moments ago. Without a word, the medic let himself drift off into a light slumber. He kept his hands where they were, however - unmoving, cradled by Breakdown's own so to be used as a crutch.

Long ago, he'd been deemed a _malfunction_ for his efforts in trying to sculpt an assistant out of the former-Wrecker - yet, here he was, the only one of his colleagues still _functioning_. For all the pride the other medics had held in their '_fragile'_ fingers, such atrophied appendages had failed to withstand the pressures of war and in the end, had all but gotten them _crushed_.


	2. Reflection

_Leave a "__**Nurse Me**__" in my ask, and I'll write a drabble about my character healing yours._

Knock Out/Breakdown (feat. comatose!Megatron), vanity

* * *

So it was with great apprehension that Knock Out mulled over every possible procedure he could fathom in his processor. He (and Breakdown, by association) had been called by _the_ Starscream to the Nemesis, in an effort to help and treat the leader of the Decepticon cause - _Lord Megatron_. He'd never treated a comatose case which involved dark energon - in fact, he'd never even _worked_ with the substance before. Merely heard rumours of its properties, enough to know he had _never_ wanted to come into contact with it. There was no backing out now, however; leave, and he'd be branded a traitor.

"We should … probably clean 'im up first …"

He gazed up at Breakdown, across the medical berth from him. Megatron's unresponsive body lay between them, hooked up to life support. With no better suggestion to go on, Knock Out nodded.

"I suppose you're right …"

Breakdown, diligent as ever, begins work immediately. Knock Out, however, continues to think. There had to be _something_ they could do other than aesthetic. As he ruminates, he watches Breakdown's progress; he's fascinated by the motions of the rotary buffer, the way it glides over the former gladiator's robust form and figure. Breakdown was always the more expert of the two when it came to buffing - within kliks, the dark charring of deep burns is fading, cleared away streak by streak. It just so happens that, as he's getting a closer look at the body, that Knock Out catches a reflection of himself on one of the newly cleared patches.

"… stop, for a moment?"

The buffer halts then, and Breakdown raises a brow, questioningly. Knock Out waves him off, dismissively.

"You have yet to explore your quarters, don't you? Go familiarize yourself for now; _I'll_ take over for you until you decide to come back."

It is not a suggestion so much as it is a command, and reluctantly, his medical assistant relinquishes the tool then heads out into the hall. When he's sure he's completely alone, Knock Out continues where Breakdown left off; he buffs away until he's managed to make a small, reflective mirror of sorts on Megatron's armor. He doesn't go much further than is necessary - he only needs to spot what he saw before - before he sets the tool down and immediately begins preening. Specifically, the area surrounding his grill.

"And here I thought I got _all_ the bugs out ..."


	3. Cheers

_Leave a "__**Tell Me**__" in my ask, and I'll write a drabble about my character confessing something to yours_

Knock Out/Breakdown, sweets

* * *

Just outside the skirts of Altihex, Knock Out remained oblivious as his assistant, Breakdown, ushered him down the corridors of their temporary base. They'd been colleagues for a few vorns now, and had only recently become official partners as field medics. Much to their squadron leader's chagrin, who had wanted to keep Breakdown _exclusively_ on the field for his sheer brutality, and Knock Out as far away from it, in the medical facilities.

"Breakdown, I already _told_ you, it's _unnecessary_-"

"There'll be high-grade. It'll be _shiny_, I promise."

With a huff, the medic obliges - it wasn't every day the ex-Wrecker got in a mood to 'surprise' him with something, after all. It gets even more ridiculous when at a certain point, Breakdown insists he offline his optics. There's a reluctant hesitation on the racer's behalf; what was he even getting himself _into?_

"C'mon, just for a sec."

"… _Fine."_

For a klik darkness is all Knock Out experiences; his sensors inform him that Breakdown is carrying him into a spacious room and there's a tint of 'giddiness' in the bruiser's spark signature. Knock Out can only _imagine_ why. Promptly, he finds himself seated somewhere; he can feel his partner's weight as it leans against his seat, shunting him forward ever so slightly.

"Okay, you can open yer eyes now."

What his optics see before him is relatively simple - a table, a few cubes of his favorite high-grade brands, and a box of …

"Breakdown, are those …?"

"Yeah. Energon goodies. We used to get 'em to raise morale back in the Wreckers, and always 'ad a spare piece for bets and such. 'Ad a few saved up an' thought that we could celebrate, because of our promotion and all …"

He can hear the awkward shuffling of Breakdown's pedes against the floor; must be some of that Autobot sentimentality the other retained at times. Knock Out can't help but giggle slightly - technically, he'd been _demoted_ (by choice, of course) - _Breakdown_ had been the only one 'promoted'. His gaze lingers on the small selection before them; he should start with an energon goodie, considering the clear emphasis on them. But how to break it to Breakdown …

"'Ere, try one."

_Right_. He takes the piece offered to him; it's of a generous size. His shoulders sag, sheepishly - he was going to have to say it at some point; he should have probably mentioned it sooner while they were still becoming 'friends' …

"Breakdown …"

Still, he can't help but notice Breakdown eying the energon treat in his hand. A look of disdain crosses the medic's pale faceplates, but soon its replaced by a wry smirk - this was all _too_ amusing. He takes only the slightest nibble of his treat, pretending to savor it.

"… Breakdown, you should _probably_ know that I _hate_ sweets."

The look of confusion that crosses his assistant's face is almost heartbreaking, but Knock Out moves before the other can speak to apologize. He presses the energon goodie to the other's rust colored lips, and waits for him to accept the morsel. When he begins to chew. Knock Out pats his cheek and takes a stand. Just before he moves so that he can gain access to the high grades at the other side of the table, he pulls down the larger mech's face for a quick peck on the lips.

"Next time, get me something _bitter._"

He takes that opportunity then to lick a stray crumb off of Breakdown's cheek; the other nearly chokes at the sensual gesture, but Knock Out is already pouring him a cube before he can ask for something to wash the goodie down with.

"Cheers, _Breakdown_."


	4. Sick

_Leave a "__**Remember Me**__" in my ask, and I'll write a drabble about my character trying to get yours to remember them_

Knock Out/Breakdown, sick

* * *

It seemed like only yesterday when they'd last been tangled up in each other's limbs. Swapping stories, sharing the highlights of their day - Breakdown had been applying a new layer of wax on Knock Out's finish, while the medic had been kicking his feet idly to the rhythm of some archaic mnemonic device he'd begun chanting. It was a perfect end to what had been a perfect day. Yet it started falling apart the moment before it reached its metaphorical and literal climax.

"… Knock Out-"

"-something wrong ..?"

He knew Breakdown was not naive. Not since they'd become … 'acquainted', in a sense. He recalls the pleasant, almost thrilling sensation of their EM fields that day as they'd drawn close; Knock Out coaxing, his assistant wanton. And then they'd spoken, and the illusion had shattered on the spot.

"Dun' wan' 'em to think I'm yer '_toy_' or somethin' …"

"Why? You might as _well_ be-"

There was a flurry of movement Knock Out does not fully remember; he hadn't even so much as pecked Breakdown, when he'd been shoved away roughly. He'd landed on his newly waxed aft, cusring.

"What? What was that!?"

"I don' belong to gorram anyone. I'm my own mech!"

"You're my _assistant_, for Primus' sake, what's the _differen-_"

"Then maybe you should fin' 'nother one-"

Just like that Knock Out had found himself alone in their temporary quarters. He could easily catch up to Breakdown and confront him. But he'd learned his lesson the _hard_ way from earlier engagements to _give_ the ex-Wrecker his space. So he held back, fuming in his own anger. He'd done _nothing_ wrong!

The next day they hadn't spoken at all - a unspoken, mutual oath of silence broke out whenever they so much as entered the same room. Their colleagues hadn't questioned it - it wouldn't be the first time a fight had broken out between the unlikely duo. Usually it would end when Breakdown would apologize to Knock Out, for whatever it was he had broken, scratched, or done in general. This time would be no different.

Then came the second day. Breakdown was the same as ever, but Knock Out, never one to care for a 'game' beyond it's expiration date, was already losing interest. He still scowled at the sight of his assistant, but would resort to speech when needed.

"Breakdown, you're _acting_ like a _sparkling_ … this _isn't_ a sonic screwdriver. I don't _need _this …!"

The third day was much like the second. And the fourth found Knock Out ranting enough for the both of them. The fifth and sixth days, the medic had just about had enough, and the seventh day found Breakdown out of commission; apparently he'd gone and caught himself a virus. Knock Out was left alone to tend to the work of two medics, with his patience (or what was left of it) hanging by a thread. He was _losing_ this battle.

"Breakdown! Breakdown, open up! I _know_ you can hear me!"

Every single one of his comms that week had been ignored; Knock Out was beginning to suspect Breakdown had blocked him off. So he'd been forced to come down in person to the spare closet the other had taken up residence in; there was _no_ way he was comfortable in that thing, not with _his_ bulk. He vented, trying to mask his impatience.

"Look. Whatever it is I said, I take it back, okay? I didn't _realise_ you were sensitive about our 'partnership' in that way. You seem to take it well enough every _other_ time I talk about your 'buffing' skills in the ber-"

There's a sound from the closet … slag. Breakdown hadn't been made aware of that yet, had he? Knock Out curses to himself.

"… can we talk about that later? Actually … if it'll get you to talk, we can discuss it now! Breakdown? Breakdown … I really hate what you're doing right now-!"

He could hear himself getting higher and higher; this was literally driving him mad. Much like fliers had their qualms about enclosed spaces, Knock Out had his reservations about being ignored. He was not used to it, he would _never_ get used to it-

"… you're the _worst_, you know that? Should have _never_ picked you for my assistant - the others were _right_ about you …"

Suddenly his voice took a resentful tone; whatever sick game Breakdown was playing at, he wanted no part in it. Not anymore. He took a deep vent then and paced.

"… you're right. Maybe I _should_ just go find myself another assistant. He'd be _less_ stubborn than _you._"

Despite his desire to move, his legs would not budge. It had been 5 kliks already - he could _not_ stay here forever; his pride had suffered _enough_. He would _not_ let Breakdown-

"… yer still there."

_Frag_. Knock Out glared at the closet.

"Thought … you were gettin' a new-"

"I _know!_"

He wished his snap had sounded more threatening, and less desperate. There's a low rumble; was Breakdown _laughing_ at him? Knock Out snarled; this was _no_ time for jokes-

"…'m sick-"

"Good, you deserve it! Because you are!"

He turns just as the closet opens, glaring daggers at his assistant. He'd missed that voice. _Greatly_. But he was _still_ angry at it.

"… I could really use a doc-"

"Oh, you need a _doctor_ now? Find yourself a new one!"

"… ok. Now you're jus' bein' _petty _…"

Knock Out makes a few noises he himself does not comprehend at that smart-aft reply. He brandishes his saw-blade when Breakdown actually dares to approach him. He's intent on using it, _really_, but … even as he's pulled into an embrace, he can't bring himself to slice through the other's armor. Because somewhere deep inside, he _knows_ he's been craving _this_ far more than he'd craved any of his lustful conquests in the past. He growls at the affectionate pats his helm receives; he is_ not_ a sparkling-

"I _hate_ you-"

"-'ate you, too."

"_Worst_ assistant-"

"-'an yer the worst medic I kno'."

Knock Out kicks Breakdown contemptuously because he knows that's the exact _opposite_ of the truth, but Breakdown doesn't even feel it. Merely hums in amusement.

"…'m not your toy, ya kno'-"

"You're still my _assistant._"

He's held captive for just a bit longer; eventually it starts to get uncomfortable, and Knock Out squirms to get away; _why_-

"… you can let go now. I've already _accepted_ your apolo-"

"… not yet. Wait a bit … okay. _Now_ we're ev'n."

"… wait, we're _even? What?-"_

Just then there's a little blip on his internal HUD that comes up. It's an urgent notification, so Knock Out opens it. It's … a _virus._

"… I'm not _talking_ to you."

"Fine with _me._"


	5. Fetish

_Leave an "__**Zip Me**__" in my ask, and I'll write a drabble about your character dressing mine, or the other way around_

Knock Out, implied Skyquake/Dreadwing, xenophilia

* * *

"… Skyquake! _What_ are you-!?"

"Whoah! I just came in for a quick fix, didn't expect to find you … well …"

"… _Go on?_"

Knock Out's intense gaze narrowed - no one was supposed to have seen _this!_ Well, except for Breakdown, maybe … but they shared a personal history that _allowed_ for such exceptions. Skyquake did not _have _that excuse-!

"… Heh. So what is this, some sick _xeno_-appreciation fetish you got going on?"

The medic cringes - this was _not_ … this had _nothing_ to do with _xeno-appreciation_ anything!

"_Personal_ interest. Nothing that concerns _you_."

He can feel the seeker's gaze trailing down his body to rest on his pelvic region. Undoubtedly focused on the strange 'article' he wore there. He shifted - why wouldn't it budge!?

"… Enjoying, heh, the view?"

A deep rumble echoes throughout the med-bay - Skyquake's chuckle.

"I don't mind it. It brings out your _aft_. Not that you didn't have a _nice_ aft to begin with."

… well then. He didn't expect a compliment (though he felt he very much deserved one). And he was well aware of the aesthetic qualities of his _aft_.

"It's called 'underwear'. Some _pitiful_ human excuse for pelvic armor, really. But, it has a way of bringing out the contours of my … _aft_, as you've mentioned."

Skyquake is still looking at him. Though he does not mind the attention, it starts to get awkward for Knock Out when nothing but silence follows their initial exchange. He opens his mouth to speak, but Skyquake beats him to the punch.

"Don't worry - just trying to imagine _Dreadwing_ in that."

"… _oh?_"

Well ... _that_ was an interesting response. He looks himself over in the nearest reflection, provided by the panes of glass embedded in his forearms. He grins.

"… you know - if you can help me _un-zip_ out of this … _accessory_, I _might_ just let you borrow it ... _just_ for the 'occasion'."


	6. Ladies

_Leave a "__**Quite Me**__" in my ask, and I'll write a drabble about my character trying to calm yours down_

Knock Out, Dreadwing, Soundwave, rivalry

* * *

The tension in the room was thick enough that Knock Out reasoned if he felt inclined to do so, he could cut through it with his saw's blade. The reason lay across the room, at the ship's main controls; the two highest-ranking officers stood before one another. Dreadwing, his face etched into a deep scowl, and Soundwave, who's visor literally mirrored the SIC's expression. Both mechs held aggressive postures; flared wings stood opposite a rigid hunch, each taking turns as they twitched every now and then in a silent battle for dominance.

"I _insist_ you take a break, Soundwave - Lord Megatron would surely agree with me that even his _most_ dedicated worker rest once in a while."

The SIC's tone was gruff and resentful; no doubt due to his recent failure. Knock Out reasoned the seeker was trying to get back into Megatron's good graces by proving himself useful. No matter how menial the task. Soundwave's response on the matter was rather lacking, as expected - silent, contemplative. It might have been a stare, if only his optics could be tracked. Knock Out already knew this was going to turn into a train wreck; he'd seen it happen enough times to their two previous SICs. Given his …. _experience_, he decided to intervene this time around.

"Ladies, _ladies._ You're _both_ pretty."

He called over from his assignment post in the corner; _both_ mechs turned their gaze on him. His confidence faltered a bit under the combined glare of his superiors; he'd thought for sure his light-hearted tone would have put them at east. But not matter - the medic clears his throat just the same.

"Not that I couldn't help but _overhear_, but … allow me to suggest that, as a mech with a background in relevant medicine, you _do_ need a break, Soundwave. And Dreadwing - I'm so, _so_ sorry. I'm not going to stop you from your little mission, but _do_ know that no matter _what_ you do, Soundwave will _always_ be Megatron's favorite. If only because he's got dirt on _all_ of us. Now, carry along then ... I can see my opinion isn't wanted here-!"

With the seeker advancing on him - Knock Out took his cue and _left the bridge_.


End file.
